


because it is my heart

by zjofierose



Series: holding his heart in his hands [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Atlas - Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, might have beens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: after his recovery from season 7, keith comes home (sequel tobitter, bitter).





	because it is my heart

They release Keith after three full weeks. By this point Shiro has at least figured out that he’s supposed to be living in the captain’s quarters in the Atlas, even if he hasn’t had time to move his few possessions from storage. It doesn’t matter; all his time is spent either working or at Keith’s side in the hospital. He doesn’t need anywhere else.

Krolia, though, is currently more in tune with things like “foresight” and “planning” and “what the doctors want”, and pulls him aside in the hallway outside Keith’s room after it’s been confirmed that Keith will be released sooner rather than later.

“You’ll need to make sure your quarters are accessible.”

Shiro blinks. “...accessible?”

Krolia’s mouth tips up in half a smile. “You heard the doctors- Keith’s still going to have some trouble getting around for another week or two. I assume the Atlas doesn’t have stairs, but does your shower have a rail? Are there easily navigable paths from the door to the bed and the bathroom?”

There are few people who can make him feel quite as conversationally out of his depth as Keith, Shiro thinks; Keith’s mother is one of them. It’s like they both start conversations halfway through, while everyone else is waiting for the exposition, the preamble, the basic statement of premise.

“...accessible…” he tries again, still hoping to make some sense out of what he’s being told without having to flat out ask what on earth she’s talking about.

Krolia huffs in exactly the way Keith does when someone is too slow in picking up what he’s putting down, the air fluffing her bangs into a poof of irritation above her amused eyes.

“Yes, Shiro. _Accessible_. So that while Keith finishes recovering, he can get around your quarters without you having to be there to help him. You’re busy; he’s going to be alone some of the time.”

“Oh,” Shiro says helplessly, trying and failing to come up with something more coherent. “He’s not going to go stay with you?”

“No,” Krolia shakes her head, and he can see she’s somewhat disappointed, but also resigned. “I’ve been staying out at the house, and it’s too far for him from the doctors, really. Besides, he belongs with you and the paladins - I can’t take him away when he’s needed here.”

There doesn’t seem to be much point in arguing, Shiro thinks, even if the thought of Keith asleep in his bed does funny things to the pit of his stomach. Her logic is sound, and, well, Shiro can’t actually say that he doesn’t want Keith so close, always within comms range, and more often within arms’ reach.

“Ok,” he says, and nods his head in acceptance. “I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”

\--

“Huh,” Keith says succinctly, staring around at Shiro’s quarters. “It’s a lot like what you had in the Castle of Lions.”

“Yeah,” Shiro answers thoughtfully, “it is, isn’t it? I guess Atlas wanted it to feel familiar.”

Keith steps into the room, his movements still slow and cautious, but confident. He drops the small bag of things he’d gathered at the hospital beside the generously sized bunk and sits down, looking curiously around the small room. “I’d have thought they’d give you a bigger space since you’re the captain of the Atlas,” he says, then clearly thinks better of it. “Not that this isn’t nice,” he adds, waving a hand at the sleek ivory walls and clever built-ins, “it really is. Just, you know. Don’t officers usually have ready rooms and stuff like that?”

Shiro sets the duffle bag he carries of Keith’s belongings from the Black Lion on the one chair in the room and unzips it, fishing out a couple of changes of bodysuit and hanging them in the closet. Shiro had finally gotten around to retrieving his own few boxes of personal items from the Garrison and distributing them around the space, old t-shirts in his drawers, a few photos magne-clipped to the wall above the desk. Anything Keith had on earth is out at the house in the desert, though, and what he’d had in the Black Lion hadn’t been much. Not that Keith’s ever gone in for stuff, really, but all of them had lost things when they’d evacuated the Castle of Lions. Shiro makes a mental note to ask Krolia to bring over whatever she think Keith might want to have close at hand.

“I think I do have a formal office somewhere, but I haven’t used it. Mostly I go to other people when I need to, or else it’s a meeting with enough attendees that we just use a conference room.” He pauses a moment, caught up short by the sight of Keith’s clothing hanging next to his own. Maybe this is presumptuous? He thinks he knows where this thing between them is going, but maybe it’s just that he knows what he wants it to be. Maybe he shouldn’t be rushing this. Maybe...

“Still, though,” Keith says, “where do you hang out? When Coran shows up with a new game, where are you going to play?” He squints at the space around them. “I don’t think everyone would fit in here, and a conference room doesn’t seem great for team bonding.”

“Um,” Shiro says, turning and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It hasn’t really come up? It’s only been… three weeks. Everyone’s been pretty busy with the rebuilding effort, and with their families.”

Keith frowns, his dark eyebrows descending like crows. “Where does that leave you, then?” His face grows defiant in an instant, and Shiro can’t tell if his first impulse is to laugh or sob at how instinctively Keith gets angry on his behalf. “Did they _ditch_ you? Just because you’ve got a bigger, fancier, space robot now, and aren’t flying the Black Lion…”

“Keith,” Shiro says, crossing the room and settling down to kneel between Keith’s feet, taking Keith’s clenched hands and curling them into his own. “I’ve been with _you_.”

“Oh,” Keith says, his expression softening, “yeah.” He leans forward until their foreheads are touching and lets his eyes drop closed. Shiro lets his own follow suit, taking a moment just to breathe in the closeness between them.

“It would be good, though, when you’re up for it, to start doing things as a group again,” Shiro adds, trying not to feel reluctant at the idea of sharing Keith with their friends. “It’s been a little scattered.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, “they all came to visit, but Allura did say that since they can’t form Voltron without me, they’ve been going out in pairs or on their own to help with things. It makes sense, but we need to retain our core bond, or we’re gonna be back to building lion pyramids again.”

Shiro snorts softly at the memory. “Just so long as you let Hunk be the head for once,” he replies, and Keith giggles helplessly. “There’s a common room Atlas made that’s close to here- and all the paladins have their own quarters that lead into it. I know everyone has their own space in their lions, and Lance and Hunk and Pidge have homes, but…”

“Atlas made rooms for everyone?” Keith sits back, his face impressed. “That was nice of it.”

“Her,” Shiro corrects without thinking, and Keith blinks. “I think she wants… to be the successor to the Castle? She wants this to be home base.”

Keith’s smile is slow, but strong. “That’s really great, Shiro. It’ll be good to have everyone more together again.” He reaches a hand up to curl around the side of Shiro’s face, his thumb rubbing absently at Shiro’s cheekbone. It makes what Shiro has to say next even harder.

“Your quarters are the closest. They’re just down the hall.”

“My quarters?” Keith’s thumb stills, and his expression flickers through confusion and surprise right into disappointment. “I thought…”

“You thought?” Shiro prompts, heart in his mouth as Keith pauses.

“Can’t I just stay here?” Keith says finally, his face composed but his eyes deep and sad, and Shiro surges up to push their foreheads back together.

“Yes,” Shiro says urgently, “of course you can stay here. I just… I wanted you to know you have options, for when you’re fully healed. I didn’t want you to feel trapped, or like I was taking a decision away from you, or…”

Keith gets both hands around Shiro’s face and drags him into a kiss, effectively silencing both Shiro's mind and his mouth. It’s their first real kiss, Shiro realizes with a start, and presses into it with all his heart. It’s everything he could have ever hoped, Keith’s mouth strong and warm against his own, their hands firm on each other’s faces and shoulders. They move against each other as easily as they do in any other context, their mouths giving and taking without question, seamlessly synchronized. It goes on for a long, glorious moment before he pulls back with a soft laugh, and Keith looks at him questioningly.

“Not one of the ways I ever pictured it happening,” he says by way of explanation, smiling ruefully. “Somehow _‘in my quarters in a giant new space robot after springing you from the hospital’_ wasn’t in the list I managed to come up with.”

Keith laughs, but his expression is openly speculative. “How did you picture it?” he asks, and Shiro can feel the flush rise in his face.

“Um,” he says, and looks away in embarrassment before forcing himself to meet Keith’s gaze. “Lots of ways. After you beating me in a hoverbike race,” he starts, and Keith’s eyes widen at the implication of how long ago Shiro first imagined this, “Alone at night in the common room. After a victory on the battlefield. When you’d managed to pin me on the training deck.” He keeps his voice carefully casual, shrugging his shoulders in feigned nonchalance. “How did you picture it?”

“I tried not to,” Keith says matter-of-factly, and Shiro’s heart cracks a little at the admission. “But…” Keith rubs a hand through his hair, and gives a rueful half-smile. “Sometimes when I was with mom on the space whale, I’d go off alone, and then when the visions came… well.” Shiro raises his eyebrows and tries not to clutch at Keith’s hands. “I’d see us, alone, out under the stars. Together.” His voice is wistful, and Shiro wants to wrap this man in his arms and never let go. “I always wondered if it was just a dream or if it was one that would become real.”

“It can be real,” Shiro promises fervently, dragging Keith down to him, “we’ll _make_ it real,” he says, and kisses him again.

\--

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith says tiredly two days later, holding up the blankets and scooting over to the far side of the bed as Shiro walks quietly into the room. “Get in. I know you’ve been waiting till I fall asleep to come back, and then sleeping in the chair.”

“I…” Shiro can feel that his cheeks are flaming, both at being caught out and at the invitation, but he still doesn’t know what to do with the sight of nearly-naked Keith gesturing him forward. “Is this...a little fast?”

Keith frowns. “Is it?” He makes the face he used to make when he was sixteen and trying to parse normal social interactions, all squinched and halfway angry. It makes Shiro’s heart clench in his chest. Keith exhales and raises his eyes to meet Shiro’s, earnest and round in the dim light.

“Takashi Shirogane,” he starts, and Shiro abruptly breaks out in goosebumps, “I’ve been in love with you for somewhere between six and nine years, because space timelines,” he flaps a hand irritably, and Shiro can’t help the incredulous sound he makes, but Keith keeps right on going. “I want to spend the rest of my life, however long or short it is, with you. Every day. Every night. I guess we’ve never officially discussed it, but I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page here.” Keith pauses for a split second, his expression going determined. “I do want to have sex with you, but not tonight, so if you need me to put on more clothes because you’re uncomfortable, throw me a t-shirt and I will. But otherwise, it’s been a long goddamn few weeks, and I’m tired and cold and I’d really like to sleep pressed right up against you so I know you’re still real when I wake up in the night. Can you please just come to bed?”

Shiro can feel his mouth hanging open. The white noise that his brain is making must certainly be audible to anyone in a five foot radius, and there’s a long pause where he can see Keith’s face start to close.

“Yeah,” he gets out softly, forcing his brain to start processing again, because damned if he’s going to leave Keith hanging, now or ever. He takes a step toward the bed, turning off his prosthetic and slipping out of his sweatpants. “Yeah, okay.”

Keith’s expression goes all soft, and Shiro thinks it can’t possibly get any better than this, his life, his whole world, and then Keith frowns again.

“And take off your shirt.”

“Romance is dead,” Shiro says without thinking, and claps a hand to his mouth in horror. The love of his life has just functionally proposed to him, and what does he do? He’s ruined _everything_ , he is officially the _worst_ , he…

Keith takes one look at him and bursts out laughing, dropping the blankets and falling onto his back, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

Shiro pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it away, lifting the covers and sliding in, reaching out to pull Keith’s still-laughing bulk against his chest.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” he grumbles, as Keith wheezes softly next to him.

“Oh, god, Shiro, your _face_ ,” Keith says, his voice trembling with laughter, “I’m sorry, that just...you…”

He’s gone again into a fit of the giggles, so Shiro just pulls Keith close and shoves his face into the pillow, closing his eyes and sighing as he tries to find sleep.

\--

It’s a week later, and the doctors have cleared Keith to return to “moderately strenuous activity,” which means that he’s taken to spending time on the training deck again with Krolia, Coran, and Shiro all three closely monitoring the duration and intensities of his sessions. It’s obvious that Keith resents the supervision, but he’s being a good sport about it so far.

Shiro pauses to watch him from the doorway as Keith claps Lance on the shoulder, praising the improvements in Lance’s form. Keith’s grown up a lot, Shiro thinks, and it shows. The time spent with Krolia changed him, as did the time with the Blades, as has being the leader of Voltron: he’s more thoughtful, more deliberate. Less prone to stab first and listen later; more strategic without having lost any of his fierce edge.

Even more, Keith’s become habitually open with his emotions, which is not something Shiro ever thought he would see in Keith for any feeling beyond anger or competitiveness. But no: Keith now bestows affection, pride, and encouragement on others regularly. As Shiro watches, Keith lets himself be pulled into a hug by Hunk while Allura and Pidge look on indulgently. It lasts for a long moment, and then Lance grabs both their hands and drags them in to wrap around Hunk and Keith, and then they’re all hugging, training armor knocking awkwardly in their enthusiasm. Shiro can’t help but smile at the knot of them laughing together before they break away. They had all worried about Keith, all missed him while he was recovering, and the fact that Keith lets them touch him, lets them reassure themselves that he’s ok, speaks volumes to how Keith’s changed.

And with Shiro? Well. It’s like Keith is trying to glue them back together through physical proximity alone. Every moment that they’re together, Keith’s in contact with him somehow: a foot touching Shiro’s ankle under the table, a shoulder pressed against Shiro’s own. At night, Keith wraps around him, one arm around Shiro’s chest, the other curled around Shiro’s head like a halo, and their legs tangled in a knot that makes it impossible to turn over. Maybe it’s an inevitable progression; they’ve been locked into each other’s orbit from the moment Keith arrived at the Garrison, a binary system with planets that move in and out of their gravitational well. Keith wants now to meld them into a supernova, pressing them together along all their edges until not a single particle can come between them.

It’s new, and it’s different, and Shiro hates how he feels like he’s walking around with his heart outside of his chest, bleeding on his sleeve for everyone to see, but… it’s worth it. Keith’s worth it.

Just as inevitable, though, is the way his body responds to Keith’s presence, the way both their bodies respond to this new closeness. Shiro wants, in his body and in his heart, everything that Keith will give him, wants it with a ferocity that surprises him. He’d wondered for a while after his time with the Galra if that piece of him was gone forever, if he’d ever be able to feel enough at peace with his body to experience desire again. But for Keith, he does. He wants Keith, wants to be with him, wants to hold him, touch him, take him apart, wants to watch him with the eyes of a lover as he comes undone. Shiro wants to give the shattered entirety of himself to Keith as an offering, sacred and sacrificial, but it doesn’t feel like enough, and he can’t help the piece of himself that looks at what they are and aches for what they might have been.

\--

The blessing and curse of knowing someone so well is that there is no hiding from Keith, and so when Keith reaches for him with clear intent one night, and Shiro lets Keith’s arms come around him, lets their lips press into each other, there’s no way that Keith misses the tiny hesitation in Shiro’s touch. Keith kisses him long and soft, then pulls back and watches him, one hand cupping the side of Shiro’s face, the other wrapped around his waist, a thigh pressed between Shiro’s knees as he waits.

“I just…” Shiro starts, and he can feel Keith’s eyes on him in the dim light of the room, “I just wish we’d had a chance to do this...when we were younger. Before everything.” He sighs, and Keith strokes soothingly up his side.

“Why?” Keith asks, his voice genuinely curious, and as much as Shiro loves that Keith doesn’t share his regret, he hates having to put this in words.

He lets himself flop over onto his back, pulling Keith up close against him. He remembers hugging Keith when they were first newly friends, how small he’d seemed, skinny and boney at every turn, his hair a chaotic mass of darkness. By the time Shiro had left, Keith had started to catch up to him, his head well above Shiro’s shoulder, his body filling out with the regularity of meals and exercise, even if his frame was always more lithe than Shiro’s own. It was then that Shiro had started to consider _what if’s_ , Keith’s arms strong around his waist on the hoverbike, his lean thighs wrapped around one of Shiro’s legs as they wrestled in the Garrison gym. But, there’d been Adam, and also the fear of accidentally harming a relationship that was as dear to him as his own soul, and so Shiro had left Earth with a long, fierce, hug and the smell of Keith’s skin rough in his nose, but nothing more.

Now Keith is nearly as tall as he is, and their toes are tangled together at the foot of the bed even as Keith pulls his head back to look Shiro in the face, his shoulders broader, his muscles bigger, and his jaw streaked with the scar Shiro put there with his own hand.

“I would have liked,” Shiro starts, unsure of how to quite say this, “I would have liked to come to you not as damaged goods,” he says finally, and shakes his head as Keith immediately starts to protest. “No, listen,” he says, “I don’t mean just the scars and the arm, though, that too. I mean that,” he exhales hard, “before I left, I was confident. I was young, I was strong; even with my disease, I knew what I wanted and I knew what I could do.” He turns back onto his side, curving his hand up to cup the jut of Keith’s cheekbone, smoothing his thumb over the silken slash of Keith’s eyebrow. Keith’s eyes are huge and ink-dark as he watches Shiro, the desire to interrupt and defend Shiro to himself clear on his face. “You deserve the man that I was. The one who would have known he could make you happy, who would have done everything he could to make things good for you, who would have spoiled you and protected you, who was…” he can’t help the way his voice shakes, so he takes a deep breath instead. “You deserve someone who doesn’t have panic attacks in the shower, or who doesn’t have screaming nightmares. Someone who hasn’t killed more creatures than he can remember.” Shiro forces himself to take a deep breath, his voice quiet and steady. “You should have someone who has two clean hands to cherish you like you deserve, who knows himself inside and out, and isn’t afraid that any time he touches you, you’ll be burned.”

His voice trails off into a whisper, and Keith is silent for a long moment, his dark eyes watching carefully, waiting until he’s sure that Shiro is done.

“Shiro”, Keith says finally, his voice as devastatingly calm as it is before he flies his lion into overwhelming odds, “when they said you’d died, I wanted to die, too.” His words are final, weighty with truth, and Shiro’s heart stutters in his chest. “The only thing, the only thing, that kept me going was that I _knew_ they were wrong, and that you were out there, somewhere, waiting for me.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro whispers, and Keith shakes his head sharply, leaning up on an elbow so he can stare down at Shiro as he speaks.

“No,” he says, “listen to me. When I got you back, it was like being able to breathe for the first time in a year, like…” his face goes frustrated, his hand tight on Shiro’s shoulder as he tries for the right words, “like I’d been choking, but suddenly my throat was opened. And then I lost you again, and it was like a nightmare, like I knew it wasn’t real, but I couldn’t wake up.” His hand comes up to fist unconsciously in his own hair, pulling, and Shiro reaches up to capture it in his own, wrapping their fingers together tight even as he feels his throat close up at the look in Keith’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and Keith shakes his head again.

“I have lost you _so many times_ , Shiro. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter to me what you look like, or what the situation is.” He waves a hand at the room around them, “if we’d kissed for the first time in the dorms or in a lion or in a Galra ship, I wouldn’t care. If you just wanted to be friends, I’d be sad, but I’d take it, because _I’d still have you_.” Keith is breathing hard, his eyes wild, his grasp on Shiro bruising, and Shiro can’t stop the tears that are sliding down his cheek. “I love you so much, Shiro, so much more than I’d have ever thought humanly possible, and the idea,” he pauses again, lost for words, his whole body vibrating with feeling, “the _idea_ that I would trade having you here, now, for something that’s not real…” he trails off, his eyes pleading with Shiro to understand. “I just want you, Shiro,” he says softly, his voice breaking, and Shiro drags him down into his arms, molding them together until he can feel the thump of Keith’s heart against his own chest. “I just want _you_ ,” Keith says again, and it’s the voice of Shiro’s best friend when he told Shiro he’d miss him when he left, the same voice that screamed his name so loud Shiro heard it in another plane of existence.

“You have me,” Shiro promises, and they’re both crying openly now, clutching at each other. So much for going any further tonight, Shiro thinks ruefully as he rolls onto his back, cradling Keith against his chest and letting him bury his face in Shiro’s neck. “You have me,” he whispers again, holding Keith as tightly as he can, “and you always will.”

They fall asleep tangled and sticky with tears, and wake hot and uncomfortable hours later, but Keith won’t let go to do anything more than roll to a cooler spot in the sheets, and Shiro can’t bring himself to pry free. He pushes Keith’s sweaty hair off his neck instead and focuses on his breathing, letting himself drift back into unconsciousness.

\--

Between Shiro’s endless meetings and Keith’s stiffness from inevitably overdoing it while training, they don’t try to do anything other than sleep for another week. It’s fine, Shiro thinks, and he’s grateful for it: there’s no rush, because there’s no question of the permanence between them. Physical intimacy is just one piece of what they are to each other, and it will happen when it happens, and he’d rather get it right than try to push through it and end up with one or both of them not having a good time. It’s fine.

Still, as old as he feels some days, they are, in fact, young men in a progressively safer and more healthy situation, and things, well, they come up.

Keith throws himself at their relationship with the same tenacity with which he attacks everything, newfound maturity or not. It’s one of the many, many things that Shiro loves about Keith, he reflects, even as he finds himself hard in his uniform after yet another interrupted make-out session. He knows that if he ever asked Keith to stop, if Keith ever felt that Shiro was truly uncomfortable, he’d stop without question, because Keith is completely and utterly attuned to Shiro’s smallest nuance. But as it is, Keith refuses to treat him like he’s broken, like he’s fragile. Honestly, it's the best thing Keith can do, because all Shiro wants on some days is to be a normal guy with a normal life and a normal relationship: To come home from a day of working hard and doing his best and end up with a lapful of the man he loves, to shower and turn out the lights and find himself in bed lazily kissing until one of them drifts off, hands on each other’s skin and faces pressed together, waking in the pre-dawn with bedhead and morning breath to stumble blearily awake, kiss each other goodbye as they start their daily routines, and then to do it all again.

And if their stolen interludes consistently end either with a rushed change of pants or a frustrated groan at the interrupting summons, well. Shiro takes some secret pleasure in knowing that this is how it would have always been before he kisses Keith goodbye and goes where he’s bid.

\--

Two months after the liberation of Earth, the head honchos declare a day of rest, and the paladins scatter to spend some uninterrupted time with their various families and friends. Lance and Veronica’s family have adopted Allura and Coran without hesitation, and the Holts have claimed custody of Krolia, Kolivan, and Romelle. Shiro and Keith had spent the morning over at the Holts’ house, eating BBQ and cheering on the festivities of the Holt family robot face-off. Colleen wins, which has Krolia high-fiving her and lecturing all present about underestimating people just because they’re kind. It’s wonderful, and Shiro settles into a lawn chair with a plate of food that’s taller than it is wide, utterly content.

They stay until late afternoon when Krolia catches Keith dozing against Shiro’s side, and sends them both back home to rest, making their excuses to the rest of the group. Shiro’s grateful to her; he loves the Holts and everyone there, but after so long in space, let alone in the astral plane, it’s still easy for him to get a little over-stimulated when he’s surrounded by this many people for too long. He wakes Keith and summons Kosmo, and they pop unceremoniously back to the ship to take a proper nap.

When they wake in the early evening, Shiro rolls over and kisses Keith lingeringly, still slow and happy with the feeling of the day. It doesn’t take too long after Keith kisses him back that Shiro finds himself naked and flat on the bed, Keith equally bare and sitting on Shiro’s stomach, his long pale thighs spread on either side of Shiro’s torso and his cock hard against Shiro’s belly. Keith’s hands are roaming Shiro’s torso indiscriminately, and Shiro’s got his palms wrapped around Keith’s knees, and it’s… it’s kind of a lot, for both of them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Keith says, and he sounds frustrated, “I never did this. Not on Earth. And then we’ve been a little… busy.” He exhales hard, and Shiro rubs a thumb encouragingly over his leg.

“Neither have I,” Shiro shrugs, and Keith looks at him skeptically. “Not in this body.”

“Is it actually different?” Keith asks, “you have the memories of having done all this before, right?”

“Mostly,” Shiro says, because he thinks he does have most of his memories from before his capture, but it’s hard to confirm the subjective contents of your own head. “But it is different. This body… it responds a little differently. Not a lot, but enough that I can tell. And I’m… I’m a different person.” He sighs. “Literally and figuratively. Even if my physical responses were exactly the same, my mental ones are not.”

“Hmm,” Keith says, and rolls his hips. The sensation makes them both groan, and makes Shiro’s breath hitch as he grabs at Keith’s knees to steady him. Keith licks his lips and scoots up Shiro’s torso determinedly, the same look on Keith’s face as Shiro’s seen a hundred times before when he tries a new maneuver, and he braces himself as Keith gets a hand around behind him and wraps it around Shiro’s hardness. In spite of knowing it’s coming, the suddenness of his touch catches Shiro off guard, and his hips lift in surprise, knocking Keith off-balance. Distracted by the sensations in his body and the strength of Shiro’s response, Keith falls forward, knocking his forehead on the wall and his shoulder into Shiro’s face.

A moment later they’re standing naked in the head while Shiro tries not to grimace as he presses tissue against his dripping nose and Keith stares at his feet in mortification. Shiro pulls Keith against him with the arm that isn’t busy applying pressure, rubbing comfortingly up and down his back, but Keith’s having none of it, his body tense and reluctant against Shiro’s side.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith mumbles, and Shiro knocks their hips together in an effort to lighten the mood. He pulls the tissues cautiously away. They’re bloody, but it’s not too bad; it’s just sore, not broken, he thinks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Keith whispers, and Shiro’s heart lurches in his chest.

“You didn’t, not really,” he says, and carefully lowers his head to look Keith in the eyes. “You’ve given me a lot worse when we spar,” he laughs, but Keith’s arms are folded across his chest, his hair hanging in his face, and there’s no response. “Hey,” Shiro says, and brushes Keith’s hair carefully back from his forehead to reveal a small but definite lump. “Here,” he says, taking a washcloth from the cupboard and holding it under the cold water tap until it’s wet and chilled, then setting it gently against Keith’s face, waiting until Keith reluctantly meets his eyes, and giving him a gentle smile. “Hold this on it while I get cleaned up.”

Keith silently obeys, pressing the cold cloth on what’s no doubt going to be a bit of a bruise while Shiro pulls out another one and uses it to wash his face, making sure to get all the traces of blood cleaned off and gone. He rinses the cloth out and drops it down the chute, then takes the one from Keith’s grip and sends it after the first before cupping Keith’s face in his hands. “Hey,” he says, pushing Keith’s hair back just enough so that he can set a kiss carefully over the mark. Keith gives a shuddery exhale and wraps his arms tight around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro smiles. “ _Hey_ ,” he says again, and tips Keith’s face up so he can kiss him on the mouth, just soft, letting their hips and chests align as he lingers on Keith’s lips. “You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to rub their cheeks together, rocking them gently just side to side. He can feel the catch in Keith’s breath, the twitch from where his dick is pressed against Shiro’s thigh.

“Bruised my dignity,” Keith grumbles, and Shiro snorts into his hair in amusement, then bends to kiss him again, smiling as Keith’s mouth opens eagerly beneath his own.

“Come on,” he says, and guides them out of the head and back toward the bunk, pushing Keith gently down and following him to the mattress. “I’ll kiss it and make it better,” he offers, and Keith laughs, letting Shiro guide him onto his side facing away, pulling him up so Keith’s pressed with his back against Shiro’s chest, legs intertwined.

“Yeah, alright,” Keith says, reaching an arm back and wrapping it around Shiro’s head as he drags him into a kiss. Shiro lets Keith control the pace for a minute before pulling back and easing into something calmer, more still, an easy give and take between lips and tongue as he lets his hand wander across Keith’s chest and belly. Keith’s nipples are sensitive, he’s discovered in the stolen moments they’ve had to fool around so far, so he drags his fingers across them until Keith arches and bites his lip, then moves on, letting his hand trace lower.

He keeps it slow, shifting so that his own cock is pressed up between the small of Keith’s back and his own stomach, wrapping his hand around Keith and pulling without hurry, his prosthetic fingers buried in Keith’s hair.

“Okay?” He whispers, and Keith just nods, his eyes closed and mouth open as his hips move sinuously into Shiro’s firm grasp. He’s beautiful, and he’s alive, and he’s here in Shiro’s arms. Shiro has to hide his face in Keith’s neck and concentrate on his breathing so he doesn’t fall apart with the wave of emotion that washes through him.

For all that they never really pick up much speed, it doesn’t last long, the movements of Keith’s body against his bringing Shiro off with a suddenness that startles him, dragging him over the edge with a gasp as he spills into the curve of Keith’s back. The unconscious tightening of his grip on Keith must be just enough, because Keith arches hard against him and comes with a groan through gritted teeth, making Shiro’s hand slick and warm with release.

They lie still for a long moment, just letting their bodies settle, their breathing even out. Keith hums in contentment, and the sound goes straight to Shiro’s heart, making it ache. He’s heard that sound before but not in such a long time, and he’d thought at several points he’d never hear it again. He memorizes it, saving it up along with the others he’s heard, holding it close and Keith closer.

Keith is already drifting off, readily displaying his usual disregard for sleeping circumstance so long as he’s safe. Shiro pulls a face and sighs, reaching over to wipe his hand on a corner of the sheet. He’d like to clean up, but he’d rather stay here, so he tucks himself more closely around Keith’s body and lets himself nod off to the sound of gentle breathing.

\--

The day that Keith is pronounced fully recovered by the doctors, Shiro isn’t there to see it. He’s busy with Atlas helping to recover equipment and survivors from a mudslide in a pit mine that the Galra had started, but which humans in their infinite wisdom had chosen to continue. In spite of the newly unified world government’s attempts to regulate the upswing of responsive industry in the wake of the Galra’s departure, there are two new illegal operations that spring up for every one they put down, and in this case, innocent civilians had died.

Shiro hates it. These people had managed to survive the years of starvation and hard labor and sickness and violence under an invading alien species, only to die because of human stupidity. He rages at length at the foreman and at the owner of the mine, but it doesn’t make him feel better when every ton of rock he moves with Atlas’ hands uncovers another tunnel from which the dead will be carried.

They do what they can, and then they return home, Shiro’s hand shaking on the controls the whole way.

Keith takes one look at him and says, “Training deck?”, waiting only for Shiro’s terse nod before he heads off. Shiro trails wordlessly behind him, peeling out of his uniform and into his training gear before striding onto the deck and starting his series of warm-up stretches.

“Bad day?” Keith asks, appearing in his old Marmora gear, the black and purple a revelation in the eggshell and silver colors of the Atlas’ halls.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, dragging his mind away from the faces of the dead and back to the present, to the simple rhythm of the breath in his body, the stretch of muscles too long at the helm.

“Well,” Keith says, catching Shiro’s gaze and smiling slow, “I’ve got a clean bill of health.” He pulls down a staff and tosses it at Shiro, grabbing two wooden swords for himself and widening his stance. “Don’t go easy on me.”

Shiro doesn’t.

\--

“You want to talk about it?” Keith asks as they make their way back to Shiro’s quarters, muscles aching and bodies dripping with sweat. Shiro had pushed and pushed, using every part of his physical discipline to ground himself into his body, to remember that he is alive, and he is here, and he can’t save everyone, but he can do what he can, he will do what he can.

Keith had given as good as he’d gotten, compensating for his still-recovering stamina with impeccable technique, his blades whirling like dervishes as he forced Shiro onto the defensive time and time again. It had ended in a draw, Shiro’s staff pressing Keith’s throat to the floor even as Keith’s blades hovered at his femoral artery and angled at his kidney.

“No,” Shiro says shortly, his body exhausted but his temper not really improved. He palms the door open and starts stripping as he crosses the room to the head, turning off his arm so that it falls motionless to the floor as he goes. He can hear Keith just a step behind him, and he wants to be irritated that he can’t even get a moment alone to be irrational, to just be angry about the unfairness of the universe, but he’s not, not really. He can’t begrudge the way that Keith hates to let him out of his sight, especially not when he feels the same.

He turns the water on and steps in, not waiting for it to warm, just holding himself under the freezing spray as it heats up, letting it run over his head and body, down his aching muscles and into the drain. The curtain slides as Keith steps in behind him, and he starts to turn, but Keith sets a palm on his back to hold him still.

“Let me,” he says, and Shiro stands steady, waiting as he hears Keith pump the shampoo dispenser. “Head back,” Keith says, and Shiro leans his face out of the spray, keeping his eyes closed. Keith’s fingers on his scalp are magical, rubbing into his hair and across the lines of tension in his temples and forehead. Shiro exhales hard as Keith’s thumbs dig into the base of his neck, fingers cradling his jaw.

Keith’s hands move away, and Shiro braces his arm on the shower wall, letting his head fall forward so that the water sluices down his back. He can hear the sound of Keith efficiently rubbing soap into his own hair, and part of him wants to turn and help, but he’s too wrung out, so he stands and waits, patient in spite of the turmoil roiling within.

“The first time I saw you, I didn’t know what to think,” Keith says without preamble. “Step back. Good.” His hands guide Shiro’s body out from under the water, letting it run down Shiro’s front as they settle soapy and strong against Shiro’s neck. “You were so handsome, and so perfect, it was like the sun shone down only on you.” Keith laughs mirthlessly. “And then you saw me. I didn’t know what to do with that. No one ever saw me. I didn’t want them to. All I wanted to do was do my time and get out of there, but you looked right at me and wanted something good from me, and I…” Keith trails off, his hands never stopping as they rub the sweat and tension from Shiro’s back and arm before leaving to gather more soap. “I didn’t want to like you,” he says, and he sounds almost angry. “Liking you was a risk. I knew you’d hurt me, and Shiro, _fuck_ ,” he says, voice cracking, and Shiro starts to turn only to be stopped by Keith’s hand on his back. “No, stay there.” Shiro bites his lip, listening to the sounds of Keith going to his knees in the small space behind him. He tries not to jump when Keith’s hands reappear on his glutes, rubbing hard into the muscle and making him moan before trailing down his legs, scrubbing him clean.

“I knew you’d hurt me, Shiro,” Keith says softly, “and I was right. You did. First you left, and then you were _dead_ , and then you were back, but then gone again, and then I find out you _had_ actually died after all…” his voice trails off in a cracking sound, and Shiro’s hand fists against the wall. He hears the sound of the soap dispenser again, and Keith pats at his ankle. “Turn around.”

Shiro turns, opening his eyes to look down at the head of wet, black hair at his feet, the angular lines of his lover, his best friend. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Keith looks up, purple eyes luminous even in the ship’s lighting. “I can never say I’m sorry enough to you,” Shiro says softly, reaching out to stroke a dripping piece of hair off Keith’s forehead.

Keith’s face goes mulish even as his hands move gently up Shiro’s shins, over his knees and onto his thighs. “Don’t be sorry, Shiro. Don’t you _ever_ be sorry. If you hadn’t done every single thing the same way you did, you wouldn’t be the man I love.” Keith’s hands are rougher now, returning with more soap as they wash determinedly up to his hips and over Shiro’s groin, holding on to his sides for a moment as Keith stands back up. “I knew you’d hurt me, and I was right,” he says, his hands scrubbing across Shiro’s chest and into his armpits before his eyes lift up to meet Shiro’s own. “What I didn’t know was that it would all be worth it.” He says it like a dare, like he’s challenging Shiro to prove him wrong. “I had _no idea_ that I could love the way that I love you,” Keith bites out, “and I wouldn’t give up knowing that for _anything_.”

“Knowledge or death,” Shiro whispers, and Keith’s mouth twitches up at the corner before Shiro captures it with his own, wrapping his arm around Keith’s back and kissing him fiercely. He can’t imagine what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of love, this kind of loyalty. Nothing, he thinks, nothing he has ever done or could ever do will merit the way that Keith looks at him, the way that Keith trusts him. He wants to bury himself in Keith, wants to inhabit his heart and soul in the same way that he inhabits his own. He wants to never, ever, leave Keith alone again, and he kisses him with the wish that could be true even as he knows it’s not.

“Rinse,” Keith says, pulling away, his face flushed and his mouth red, eyes determined and lovely, “and then take me to bed.”

\--

They rinse and dry off with careful haste, silent and focused. Exhaustion is setting in to Shiro’s limbs, and he’s grateful, because without it he thinks he’d be jittering with nerves. Keith finishes first and walks out into the room without even bothering to put on underwear, climbing into the bunk waiting. It’s so reminiscent of their first night together that Shiro can’t help but smile as he makes his way over, kneeling on the mattress and sliding under the sheet that Keith holds up for him.

The sensation of the entire amount of their bare skin pressed together will never fail to amaze him, Shiro thinks, sliding his hand across every part of Keith’s form he can reach before winding it into Keith’s hair and pulling him into a melting kiss. Keith’s own hands are busy reshaping Shiro’s form into something new, something treasured, and Shiro has to try not to choke on the emotion caught in his throat.

“No,” Keith says, pulling back to stare Shiro in the eyes. “Don’t hold back. _Never_ hold back. Not with me.”

“Okay,” Shiro whispers, pulling Keith to him and rolling onto his back so that Keith is draped across him. “I won’t hold back how much I love you,” he says, and Keith’s expression goes achingly fond. “I won’t hold back how incredibly grateful I am,” he pauses to let his voice clear, and then to groan as Keith shifts his weight and settles in between Shiro’s legs, “that I get a chance to be with you, like this.”

“I love you, Shiro,” Keith says urgently, like he hasn’t been saying it multiple times a day for the last several weeks, “I love you so much.”

“I know, Keith,” Shiro says, and smiles. His heart feels like it will explode out of his chest if it beats once more, but he can’t even begin to worry about that, not with Keith here, like this, with him. “I know.”

They lie still for a moment, just breathing, and then Keith moves restlessly against him, and Shiro has to lift his head and kiss him like he’s wanted to for years, claiming Keith’s mouth for himself, sinking into him until everything else fades away.

Minutes go by before he pulls back, no longer able to ignore the aborted rhythm of Keith’s movements against his hips. He strokes up the side of Keith’s neck, cupping the palm of his hand around Keith’s jaw, hiding the scar he’d put there in another life.

“What do you want, Keith?” he asks softly, and Keith stills against him. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I want to take care of you,” Keith answers without hesitation. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You already do,” Shiro says, but relents at the vulnerable look on Keith’s face. “Okay,” he says, reaching for the bottle of oil that lives in the shelf next to the bed. Keith’s eyes widen just slightly, and Shiro wants to laugh. “You know what to do?” he asks, spreading his legs so that Keith’s knees fall to the mattress between his own.

“Show me,” Keith breathes, and Shiro takes Keith’s hand in his own. It’s like showing him how to guide the simulator, how to block a strike with a blade. So much of what they’ve done together starts with Shiro wrapping his fingers around Keith’s and guiding him to something new. It seems only right that now it’s Shiro coating Keith’s long fingers with oil and smoothing them into place as he pulls a leg up to make room for Keith’s knees under his own thighs.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, his fingers careful but sure as they breach him, making Shiro’s head fall back at the sensation. He lets his hand slide up to Keith’s wrist, unable to stop his hips from moving restlessly at the push of a second finger sliding in beside the first. “ _Shiro_ ,” Keith says again, and Shiro groans, releasing his grip on Keith’s wrist to pull him down into a kiss.

“Okay,” Shiro says, “I’m ready.” Keith gives him a skeptical look, pressing his fingers deeper, his brows lowered in concentration. “I want to feel you,” he says, in response to Keith’s raised eyebrow, “it’ll be fine.”

Keith frowns, tracing a finger from his other hand around where the first two are sunk into Shiro’s body and watching as Shiro shudders at the touch. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Keith says quietly, and Shiro raises up on his elbow so he can rub his cheek comfortingly against Keith’s.

“You won’t, if you go slow,” Shiro vows. “This body hasn’t done this before, but I know what to expect and how to respond to it. I won’t let you cause me pain.”

“Even if you think you should?” Keith asks carefully, and Shiro bites his lip at the question. Keith sees too much by half, and this isn’t something Shiro wants to address right now, but he owes it to his partner to be honest.

“I wouldn’t use you to hurt me without your consent,” he says, and Keith nods once in acceptance, withdrawing his fingers as Shiro gasps at the loss.

“Sorry, sorry,” Keith says, fumbling with the oil even as Shiro hides his face in Keith’s shoulder, rubbing his forehead into the muscle there in an effort not to feel empty. Keith presses against him, and then they’re both inhaling sharply as Keith pushes home, a long slow slide that has Shiro falling back against the pillow and hitching his knee higher as Keith fills him.

“Like that?” Keith asks, his tone equal parts concerned and determined, and Shiro nods breathlessly.

“Just like that,” he says, smiling up at Keith and stroking his hand down the long, muscled plane of Keith’s back until he can settle it on the hard muscle of his flank. “You’re doing so good,” Shiro tells him, and he can feel Keith square his shoulders under the praise, “you always do so good for me.”

“Because I love you,” Keith says, and starts to move, “I always have.”

He states it like a fact of nature, like the constancy of the equations that carry them into space strapped to an exploding tank of fuel, like the knowledge that water is wet and Earth’s sky appears blue and that deep space smells faintly of raspberries, like the slide of his hips into Shiro’s isn’t taking Shiro apart faster than should be possible.

“Thank you,” Shiro manages to get out, pressure rising in his gut as Keith starts to lose himself to an instinctive rhythm, bracing himself against the bed as he rolls into Shiro like a wave. “For never giving up on me.”

Keith lowers himself down until he’s lying against Shiro’s chest, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck like he has countless times before. Shiro takes the opportunity to wrap his legs around Keith’s hips, sighing into his hair at the change of angle and using his arm to hold Keith close to him. The pressure is building up between them, sweet and inevitable, powerful as galaxies colliding. Shiro winds his fingers into Keith’s hair, his forearm lining the curve of Keith’s spine.

“How could I?” Keith mumbles into Shiro’s collarbone, the roll of his hips becoming insistent even as he wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro can feel himself coming undone with every thrust, and he can’t help but cling to the body over him. If he’s going into the dark, he wants to go together, never wants to do anything alone again. “You never gave up on me,” Keith says, and comes hard, pressing himself into every inch of Shiro’s body like he can mold them into one person through sheer force of will. The feeling of Keith’s hips stuttering out their last bursts against him brings Shiro over with him, his hand clutching hard at the back of Keith’s neck as Keith kisses roughly at his chin, his jaw, his clavicle.

It’s too hot, and he’s sweaty again, but there’s no force in the universe that could pull him away from Keith right now. He can feel Keith’s heart slowing against his chest from the breakneck speed it had reached. Their breathing has synchronized, and Shiro is in love with the weight of Keith on his chest as he inhales deeply, unwinding his legs from Keith’s hips and letting them fall to the bed. Keith mumbles disgruntledly into Shiro’s shoulder at the sensation, and Shiro can’t help but laugh, which makes Keith lift his head up to stare at him with fond amusement.

“Stay here,” Keith says, and pries himself up and off with impressive agility, considering, returning with a warm cloth a moment later.

“You don’t need…” Shiro starts, fully intending to go clean himself up, but Keith just sets a hand in the middle of his chest and holds him down, using the other to wipe him down from stem to stern, leaving him clean and relaxed and infinitely weary.

“I want to take care of you, Shiro,” Keith says as he finishes, chucking the cloth across the room through the doorway of the head, and pushing Shiro over on the bunk so that Keith can curl up behind him. Shiro goes over easily, letting Keith shove a leg between his own and wrap an arm around his chest.

“You do,” Shiro says, and tangles their fingers together, pulling Keith’s palm up to his mouth so he can kiss it and then laugh as Keith indulges in a jaw-cracking yawn. “You always do.”

“I’m sorry they took your arm, Shiro,” Keith mumbles sleepily, “but I’m glad they left you this one.”

Shiro chuckles softly, pulling Keith’s arm around him more securely. “Didn’t know you had a preference,” he says, letting his eyes slide close, shifting slightly to a more comfortable position. It’s bittersweet, being here, in a place he never thought he’d reach ever in this life. He focuses on the sweet, letting the memories of his imprisonment, his isolation, fade away in comparison to the heat and bulk of Keith’s body pressed against him, the feel of Keith’s toes rubbing absently against his own.

“Mmm,” Keith answers, “not for your arm. For your hand.”

“Why…” Shiro starts perplexedly, then freezes all at once as he puts it together, unconsciously tightening the fingers of his left hand as it clicks into place. God, it’s… overwhelming, and perfect, and Shiro can’t think of anything he wants more in the universe than to wear a public symbol of their devotion.

He can feel the second that Keith figures out what he’s just said and wakes back up with a start, his body going tense in every muscle, but he doesn’t pull back, doesn’t flinch away. The silence holds for a long breath before Keith drags Shiro over to lay on his back so he can see Shiro’s face. Keith’s expression is fierce and scared, but as exhilarated and determined as the first time he throws himself over a cliff.

“I meant it,” he says, he eyes pinning Shiro where he lies, “I mean it.” His face is open, vulnerable, and he’s the most beautiful thing Shiro has ever seen. Shiro wants to keep him forever. “I won’t take it back.”

“Yes,” Shiro says, pulling Keith against him, fitting them together until their orbits are perfectly aligned. “ _Yes_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> well, i wanted to post this for keith's birthday, but i didn't make it in time. i'm not as sold on it as i am _bitter, bitter_ , but it felt necessary to let keith do a little talking. i'm also not sold on the ending, but i'm tired of picking at it, so oh well. many thanks to the_deep_magic for the handholding!


End file.
